


Good Omens Short Stories

by TouchofMystery



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel and Demon, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Other, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchofMystery/pseuds/TouchofMystery
Summary: I fell in love with this series this past weekend. And my brain was like: yeah, you should write some short stories, mini stories, maybe a one shot here and there.So, I did :)English is not my first language grammar-wise, so I hope to improve by writing these short stories.Have fun reading!-------------------
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 3





	1. The "F" Word

** At a dining table somewhere in Soho **

I said the “f” word Crowley!”

“Wh- food? Fretenizing? Flaw? F-” the demon guesses, knowing perfectly well what his Angel means.

“Oh stop it! You know what word I mean!” Aziraphale cuts him off a bit pointy.

“No, I have no idea,” Crowley smiles as he takes a sip of his red wine. “Fish? Frostbite? Fermenting?”

“ _No_!” Aziraphale half-wittily shouts. Some people look up but aren’t too bothered with the pair at the table.

“ _The_ “f” word! The word you demons use so- so willy nilly.”

“Willy nil-” Crowley has to hold back his laughter. Aziraphale is always so posh. Just the thought of him using the word “fuck” is quite hilarious. Not that he would easily admit that to his Angel.

“Please, enlighten me with what word you used and why,” Crowley steals a French fry from Aziraphales plate. He never eats the French fries so Crowley has taken it upon himself to at least eat those.

It seems to make Aziraphale happy.

“I feel like this is going to be a story for the books,” Crowley adds on.

The angel shoots him a look, which Crowley answers with a smirk, “oh come on, you know you love me.”

Aziraphale doesn’t answer. Over the years he’s learned not to always fire back at the demon. And this is precisely the kind of remark Crowley would love to get all smartypants over.

“The right answer would’ve been “yes”,” Crowley murmurs.

“Anyway!” Aziraphale talks over him quickly, in hopes to get Crowley's attention back on the topic. “that silly man Shadwell was involved.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow, “excuse me? He was the one to set your shop on fire!? He- he made me think I lost you!?”

Aziraphale looks around nervously, people do notice something going on right now.

The angel purses his lips together, but nods.

Had Crowley known that knob would, briefly, bring an end to his best friend, he’d never even considered hiring him to find the Antichrist.

Then again, Aziraphale was the one who’d sent him.

“Apparently the man saw me conversing with the- well the higher-ups,” Aziraphale continues his story. Non the wiser about Crowley’s growing anger.

“And thought I was a witch,” the angel giggles. Crowley blinks, his anger seems to have gone the moment his Angel giggled. The sound light as the feathers of his wings.

“A witch! The idiocy,” Aziraphale smiles. “I am Ethereal, he ought to know the difference. He tried to cast out a demon he thought to be inhabiting my body,” Aziraphale can’t hold back laughter now.

“The irony,” he manages to bring out, “the-”

Upon seeing Crowley’s face, the angel regains his posture and clears his throat. 

“I had warned him about the portal, you know how that all goes. It still being active and all that,” Aziraphale takes a bite of the salmon on his plate. “I mean- he kept beckoning me backwards and- well,” he sighs.

“And-?” the demon edges on.

“And he beckoned me backwards right into that _stupid_ portal.”

“So basically you were being an idiot,” Crowley says, trying to keep his laughter at a bare minimum. Only Aziraphale could manage such a ridiculous thing.

“Fine, I was being an idiot,” Aziraphale agrees with Crowley, “but before I got discorporated, I said the “f” word!”

“Yeah I still don’t know what word you are talking about,” the demon keeps teasing.

Aziraphale looks a tad appalled, “you _want_ me to repeat it!”

“What gave it away?” Crowley doesn’t hide his laughter.

The angel folds his arms, “I am _not_ going to say it!”

“Oh come on, just so I can say you said it,” Crowley grins. “Besides, you already said it once and no one has smitten you so far.”

Aziraphale purses his lips together, none of the higher-ups has smitten him, no. That honour goes to someone far closer.

“I said-” the angel starts.

Crowley looks at him expectantly, “Fu-” he helps.

“Fuck. There, I said it, can we move on to another topic now?”

Crowley takes another sip of his red wine, “I’m proud of you, Angel.” But the only answer he gets back is a snort.

“Oh come on,” Crowley looks at Aziraphale over the edge of his glass, “you know you love me.”

Aziraphale takes a sip of his own red wine, “yes, I know.”


	2. The Curious Case of the French Fries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What more can I say besides the fact that this is a mini-mini fic about French Fries?  
> \-----------------------------

Although it was a given that Aziraphale did like a variety of food, he also, now and then, did enjoy an “ordinary” takeaway with French fries and a salad on the side, thank you very much.

But ever since he’s found out that Crowley had taken a liking to that particular sort of food, he didn’t at all mind scrapping it off his menu list again.

Just the sight of the demon stealing the fries from his plate was a small delight to him.

Even more so because it was the first food Crowley seemed too thoroughly enjoy.

But unbeknownst to Aziraphale, Crowley on the other hand had taken it upon himself that whenever his angel got a side dish of French fries, to eat those.

Since the angel didn’t seem to like them all that much.

Azirapahle was always so peculiar about his food, because “leaving it will let it all go to waste!”

So, in order to keep Aziraphale as happy as possible, Crowley, against his own standards towards human food, because “we don’t bloody need it,” well, he of course ate the leftover fries.


	3. Slow Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's put an end to the 6000 year slow burn.
> 
> Or, well
> 
> Sort of  
> \--------------------------------------

Crowley paces around the bookshop. The angel was nowhere to be found, and he was too uncomfortable to try and find Aziraphale right now.

Besides, now he had time to come up with what he actually had on his mind since the Armageddon’t.

Frankly he’d come to the bookshop on a whim. In a moment of courage.

Said courage though was rapidly fading again so the angel better hurry up.

Crowley squints, and ruffles his hair, maybe he should practice what he wanted to say to Aziraphale.

“Fuck,” the demon mumbles under his breath, “well okay. Fine. Hi, angel. I came here to talk to you about the- the thing you said all the way back in 1967? I mean, we remember everything don’t we? So you know what I am talking about. That I- I was going too fast for you and all that,” his voice trails off.

Dammit all, why the _hell_ is this so hard?

For a moment the demon closes his eyes.

“Well if you don’t mind me saying,” he starts again, glad his voice is back at it’s normal strength, “we are on our own now. No involvements from down below or- or up there. We’re our own team, you admitted to that too. And don’t get me wrong, dining at the Ritz was cool, especially because I was with you, you blind idiot. But I hope I’ve slowed done enough by now to- well- enough for your liking anyway,” Crowley pauses, “but I have to add on to that, that frankly, I have waited long enough now.”

If he could say it like that to Aziraphale once he had returned-

“I should have written that down,” Crowley scolds at himself, turning on his heels.

He freezes, and stares right at Azirapahle, who looks at him in the doorway.

How long has he been standing there?

_I’m fucked._

But the angel doesn’t look angry, or startled, or surprised. His eyes seem to twinkle more than usual, and he blinks a few times.

“You _really_ should have written that down,” Aziraphale is the first to break the silence between them.

Crowley opens his mouth but he can’t think up a witty remark.

Aziraphale walks in, and carefully places the books he was carrying with him on one of the many tables.

“I do believe we still haven’t done that picnic,” he says softly. But he doesn’t need to raise his voice for the demon to hear him, and he perfectly well knows that.

“I was at your house just now, actually,” the angel turns to Crowley, “to- to invite you- to said picnic.”

“Exc-” Crowley blinks a few times, “you were at my place to-”

“Tempt you to go on that picnic, yes,” Aziraphale avoids eyecontact. “But you were here- quite obviously,” he points at Crowley. “At least I was on time to- to hear that spe-”

“ _Don’t_ finish that sentence, angel,” Crowley warns, already embarrassed enough, “just get into my car.”


End file.
